


The Wolf's Envy

by AbleG



Series: The Dragonborn Comes [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M, when does this qualify for "slow burn" status
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 10:09:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12555100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbleG/pseuds/AbleG
Summary: Just as Vilkas decides to turn his attention to other, more important matters, the stranger returns with the hopes of joining the Companions. Though Kodlak seems to think the stranger is a worthy candidate, Vilkas is entirely unconvinced even when asked to test the newcomer's strength and skill. Certainly, the Master at Arms of Jorrvaskr will have the skill to send this milk-drinker back out into the wilderness where he crawled from, even if it is just a test....





	The Wolf's Envy

**Author's Note:**

> Part FOUR
> 
> What can I say? I love spiteful Vilkas. He's just so angry and unhappy all the time, and he only has himself to blame... one of my favorite points in the Companion quest line is when Vilkas just doesn't want anything to do with you and is just rude to you for no reason. Or maybe this IS the reason?! He's a jealous lil bitch who doesn't wanna share Papa Kodlak's attention with anyone.

Vilkas was seated in the chair to Kodlak’s right, his head hanging low and his arms resting on his legs as though the weight of their discussion was pulling him down to the floor. Kodlak was nothing but patient with Vilkas as he waited for a response. He was confident in his thoughts and was prepared to answer any further questions Vilkas might have.

Vilkas turned the palms of his hands upwards and stared at them, as though he thought them unclean. “...But I still hear the call of the blood.”

“We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome.” Kodlak said gently, but with conviction. The way Kodlak spoke and the strength behind his words were usually enough to turn the head of even the most stubborn man. Vilkas was stubborn in many ways, but never with Kodlak. The old man had won his respect long ago, as he did with all of the Companions. But his was different. None of the Companions had been so young as Vilkas and Farkas had when they took a place at Jorrvaskr. Vilkas would never forget how Kodlak had taken the two of them under his wing when Jergen had dumped them here, or how he had raised them to be the men and warriors they were today. Vilkas was too proud to admit what he thought of the old man out loud, but Kodlak understood.

Vilkas looked up at Kodlak and met his gaze, a new flame of determination burning in his heart. Though it would be difficult, he would follow Kodlak’s example until the day he died. “You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don’t know if the rest will go along quite so easily.”

Kodlak nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair, pausing for a moment to think. It was only a brief moment, but Vilkas saw Kodlak’s silent deliberation as he worked out his reply. “Leave that to me.”

Relief washed over Vilkas. He had feared that he would have to go to Skjor and Aela to make them see things Kodlak’s way on his own. Skjor had a tendency to view Vilkas as he was when he was still a pup at times, and didn’t always take his words to heart despite the fact that he was included in the Circle, at the same rank as Skjor himself. Aela found favor with Skjor, and she too was guilty of dismissing Vilkas at times. Farkas fared little better with the two of them. They thought him slow-witted and were not shy to let Farkas know what they thought. It angered Vilkas at first to see his brother agreeing with these harsh words, though the brothers both knew they were true. He had feared that years of affirmation had convinced Farkas that he was less of a thinker than most. But Farkas was not ashamed of himself. In fact, he wore it as a badge of honor. Especially when Kodlak had praised the two of them after a particularly challenging mission where they were outnumbered 10 to 1 by bandits and had still come back to Jorrvaskr in one piece. He had clapped each boy on the shoulder with such pride and had told them that together, they equalled Ysgramor in battle prowess. Farkas had the strength and endless stamina in battle, and Vilkas had the intelligence to strategize and lead. Kodlak had always been around to take care of the two of them, and still did so to this very day. Vilkas looked over at Kodlak with a smile, intending to show his gratitude, but there was an unfamiliar shadow lurking in the open doorway. Vilkas’s smile immediately disappeared and was replaced with a hostile scowl.

“Great, another ambitious visitor. You think you can just wander in here and join us?” Vilkas said with equal parts venom and sarcasm. He pretended not to see the look that Kodlak had given him for his blatant disrespect towards a guest. 

“A stranger comes to our hall, we should at least greet him.” Kodlak said, inclining his head with some curiosity towards the figure standing awkwardly outside of the room. Kodlak beckoned to the man to step forward, and when he did, Vilkas’s blood turned to ice.  
It was him. The stranger. The outsider. The one who hid behind an innocent smile and pretended as though he knew nothing about the world in which he lived. Vilkas was practically bristling when the man stepped forward and respectfully nodded his head towards Kodlak, then glanced over at Vilkas with an excited grin of recognition. He remembered Vilkas. Why he remembered, Vilkas couldn’t begin to comprehend why. He wished the man didn’t.

“I’ve come because one of your men told me that I should join up with you. He told me where to find you.” The man said. The sweet, light tone in his voice was almost jarring when looking at the man’s stature, but it certainly matched the idiotic, gentle smile that seemed to constantly paint his features. Vilkas was sure this young milkdrinker would be swiftly dismissed from Kodlak’s presence, so he was hardly concerned.

“Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you.” Kodlak said with a tone of warmth in his voice that Vilkas recognized all too well. Jealousy welled up inside his heart and stole his breath for a moment as he watched Kodlak rise to his feet and open his arms welcomingly to the man. He could not bare to bite his tongue and hold his silence when the man’s smile widened and he stepped forward towards Kodlak Whitemane, the Harbinger of the Companions with no trepidation whatsoever. “What is your name, stranger?”

“Airgiod, sir.” The man replied.

“Hmm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit…” Kodlak commented aloud as he scrutinized the outsider, or Airgiod as he called himself, thoughtfully.

Vilkas could take it no longer. Why couldn’t Kodlak sense the aura of ill-fortune that hung over Airgiod? “Master, you’re not truly considering accepting him?”

With that Kodlak turned towards Vilkas, a harsh look of disappointment lining the wrinkles of his wise face. Vilkas immediately regretted speaking out when he saw that look, and he fell immediately silent.

“I am nobody’s master, Vilkas. And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts.” Kodlak snapped. Vilkas felt a hot wash of shame crawl over his entire body. Not only had he spoken ill enough to incur Kodlak’s annoyance, but he had been chastised in front of a stranger as though he were still some untrained pup biting at someone’s ankles. He had no choice but to submit if he wanted to keep at least a scrap of dignity.

“Apologies.” Vilkas said curtly, not looking Airgiod in the face. He may be appeasing the old man, but that didn’t mean he had to welcome Airgiod with a smile and a hug. And it certainly didn’t mean that Vilkas couldn’t try to talk Kodlak out of his decision. “But perhaps this isn’t the time. I’ve never even heard of this outsider.”

Kodlak was swift to reply, recognizing what Vilkas was attempting to do. “Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart.”

Vilkas’s stomach flipped in uncomfortable knots at the hopeful grin that spread across Airgiod’s face. He couldn’t understand why Kodlak was defending this man he had never seen before so strongly before he even had any idea of their fighting ability. Vilkas could not risk speaking out too brashly a second time.

“And their arm…” Vilkas added under his breath, wanting everyone to know his dissatisfaction. To his surprise, Kodlak actually agreed with him this time.

“Of course. How are you in battle, boy?” Kodlak asked as he looked at Airgiod once again.

Suddenly bashful and awkward, Airgiod shrugged. “Well, sir, I’ve survived this long without much trouble… but I have much more to learn, that I know.”

This answer pleased Kodlak greatly. His lips spread into an equally eager smile as he nodded his approval to Airgiod. “That’s the spirit! Vilkas, here, will get started on that.” Vilkas looked over at Kodlak incredulously, his jaw hanging slightly open as he struggled to find the words of protest in time. As soon as Kodlak met his gaze, Vilkas knew it was already too late. “Vilkas, take him out into the yard and see what he can do.”

Unable to refuse Kodlak, Vilkas stood up slowly and gravely, shooting the wary Airgiod yet another dangerous look. “Aye…”

Vilkas then pushed passed Airgiod, causing the young man to stumble to the side, and swiftly left the room. He did not care to see the look on Kodlak’s face as a result of his actions. So he continued down the hallway and to the stairs without so much as glancing over his own shoulder to see if Airgiod was following him or not.

The evening air was chilled, and not many townsfolk remained outside at this hour. Only the footsteps of the patrolling guards could be heard aside from the commotion of the Companions. Several of them had seen Vilkas storm out into the training yard with the young Airgiod following behind him. They knew what this was about, and they gathered around under the awning to watch as Vilkas sparred with the prospective Companion recruit. While Farkas was better known for his skills in battle than Vilkas was, Vilkas was by no means some fool with a blade. Vilkas had trained himself in several areas of combat to ensure proficiency in battle, and his skill with a greatsword was unmatched by anyone in all of Whiterun. He might even be one of the best in all of Skyrim. And, to the other Companions, nothing went with a brawl quite as nicely as a follow-up sparring session that was completely unmatched and unequal by way of skill.

Airgiod walked to the center of the training yard where Vilkas was waiting impatiently for him. The young Nord was looking over his shoulder at the jeering group of Companions that was gathered to watch him fail, and he seemed either intimidated or troubled by it. Vilkas snorted quietly and muttered “whelp” under his breath.

By the time Airgiod had joined Vilkas in the center of the yard, Vilkas had found himself an iron shield and the other Companions had found comfortable places to sit or stand to enjoy the spectacle. Airgiod gave Vilkas a confused smile and inclined his head to the small crowd.

“Are they here to watch this…?” Airgiod asked.

“They enjoy a fight, whether it is equally matched or not.” Vilkas said with little patience in his voice. He raised the iron shield to his torso, making it seem as though this entire ordeal was not worth his time or effort. He did not wish to give Airgiod the idea that he was welcome here, or that he might find a friend in Vilkas.

“Alright then.” Airgiod said with a pleasant shrug. He ignored the scowl that Vilkas gave him as soon as he began to roll his shoulders and stretch his neck from side to side.

“The old man said to take a look at you, so let’s do this. Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form.” Vilkas barked. His patience was stretched thin already, and watching Airgiod stretch was certainly agitating him further. Brandishing the shield and donning a superior smirk, Vilkas added patronizingly. “Don’t worry, I can take it.”

Vilkas saw Airgiod hesitate. Was it because he was intimidated, or because he thought himself better than Vilkas? The reason was of little import to the Companion. He snarled and stepped forward, knocking Airgiod back with the iron shield. Airgiod stumbled back a couple of paces and stared at Vilkas in surprise.

“Are you going to attack me like a Nord, or stare like some helpless rabbit cornered by a fox?” Vilkas scolded Airgiod sharply. A few chuckles from the spectators only served to inflate Vilkas’s ego further. Airgiod was nothing. Vilkas would be able to return to Kodlak with a dismal report on the outsider’s potential, and that would be the end of it.

Airgiod let out a regretful sigh as he finally reached back and drew his greatsword. Vilkas paid no attention to the way Airgiod gripped the blade, how steadily he held the heavy weapon, or his wide stance to compensate and balance himself. Had he been more vigilant rather than gloating, Vilkas might have been more prepared for the attack that came next.

Airgiod ran forward, lifting the sword over his shoulder as he charged Vilkas. Vilkas had only enough time to ready his shield once again as the sword came crashing down upon it. The sound of heavy metal on metal rang through the training yard like thunder and Vilkas was forced back. He was staggered under the strength of Airgiod’s blow. Airgiod’s sword came at him again, even faster this time. Vilkas deflected the blow, slanting the shield so the blade gleaned off of it and towards the ground. He then thrust the shield sideways so the edge would hit Airgiod in the side. He had left himself wide open after his attack. That was the danger of greatswords. Airgiod could throw his around well enough, but strength was nothing in the face of skill. Airgiod would fall as all the rest at Vilkas’s feet. Kodlak had only meant for Vilkas to test Airgiod’s strength, and perhaps rubbing the outsider’s face into the dirt was excessive and unnecessary, but Vilkas felt compelled to wipe that idiotic smile off of the man’s face for longer than 5 minutes.

The shield was stopped dead before it had reached it’s target of Airgiod’s side. Vilkas stared in disbelief. Airgiod had managed to drag his greatsword along the ground and prop it up with both hands to block the blow from Vilkas’s shield with such speed and precision. Then, with the sword’s tip already anchored in the ground, Airgiod used it as support and leverage as he pulled himself into the air just enough to kick the shield, and by extension, Vilkas’s arm out of the way. Once he landed on the ground where Vilkas had once been standing moment before, he spun the greatsword around to deliver a devastating, momentum-fueled blow that was surely enough to rend armor in two. Having no time to regain his footing, it was all Vilkas could do to hold up the shield once more as the sword came down like the judgement of Ysmir upon him, and he fell into the dust. 

The Companions who had gathered to watch the fight had been cheering and egging on the fight all along. Now, they fell silent in shock. None of the newer members had ever seen Vilkas defeated in battle before, as he had cemented his position in The Circle before any of them had joined. True, Vilkas may not have been knocked down so easily if he had not so greatly underestimated his opponent, but still. No one but Kodlak, it seemed, had any inclination that this man dressed in leather and furs had the agility or skill in battle that he had just demonstrated.

Airgiod stood over Vilkas, and Vilkas expected him to gloat. He was prepared for some display of Nord pride to issue forth from the victor. Instead, Airgiod simply broke into a wide grin and laughed jovially. There was pride in his laugh, but not a spiteful pride. Not the pride one would expect defeating an aggressor who had thrown naught but insults, but the pride of a warrior who had defeated another warrior in combat and was now celebrating an honorable victory. To Vilkas’s horror, Airgiod then offered him a hand to help him to his feet.

Even more humiliated by Airgiod’s good sportsmanship, Vilkas had to resist the urge to spit on his hand. It was somehow more insulting that Airgiod had not returned Vilkas’s venom with spite, but with companionship and comradery. He shoved Airgiod’s hand away forcefully and got to his feet by himself. He set his jaw and scowled, but he knew he was dishonorable to brood and pout after a defeat. A true Nord and Companion would face his opponent always with dignity. He didn’t have to like it, though.

“Not bad. Next time, when I have more than just a shield, it won’t be so easy.” Vilkas said, pleased by the way Airgiod’s face changed when he sensed the ice behind Vilkas’s words. Yes. It was a small, spiteful victory to see that warm smile fade ever so slightly from Airgiod’s face. Things started to make more sense to Vilkas.

Here was a lone traveler, skilled enough with a blade to have survived alone as long as he had. He had very little coin to his name, and nothing of value to call his own other than the sword at his back. He had heard of the Companions from somewhere and had seeked them out. Probably for the money and honor, but most for the need to belong. The Companions meant many different things to many different people. To Athis, it meant a chance for fortune and glory. To Farkas, it was about honor and protecting people that could not defend themselves. Vilkas would always claim that the money was his primary reason for lending his blade to the cause. While it was true that Vilkas was a shrewd man, more fond of fortune than it was perhaps acceptable to be, there was a deeper reason why he fought tooth and nail to his very last shred of strength for the Companions. His true reason was why he understood Airgiod’s motivation so well in that instant, and how he knew he finally had a weapon against the outsider who had come to disrupt the status quo of life in Jorrvaskr. It was a weapon he could cut Airgiod with more deeply than any sword he could wield against him.

Confident and astute, Vilkas was sure of his discovery on Airgiod’s character. His expression switched from harsh to almost completely indifferent. He became as cold and uncaring as the northern Skyrim ice flows. “You might just make it. But for now, you are still just a whelp to us, new blood. So you do what we tell you.”

He revelled internally as he saw more of Airgiod’s smile drain away. It wasn’t completely gone, but it was enough for Vilkas to see that his own attack had been successful. Airgiod would not attempt to approach Vilkas in such a friendly way again. Vilkas reached at his side and unbuckled the sword and sheath from his belt, handing it off to the puzzled Airgiod unceremoniously. It was now time to put Airgiod in his place. He couldn’t have the whelp thinking that, just because he had beaten Vilkas once in a sparring match, that he was somehow higher in the pecking order.

“Here’s my sword. Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. And be careful, it’s probably worth more than you are.” Vilkas instructed before turning on a heel and walking back inside Jorrvaskr. As he passed, he ignored the younger Companions. They in turn, ignored him as well. They knew better than to make any comments about Vilkas’s defeat. They respected Vilkas, yes, but they were also much more aware of his faults than he was. None of them felt like inciting his cheek this late at night. However, that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be discussing tonight’s events as soon as Vilkas was safely out of earshot.


End file.
